


hardened heart

by kornevable



Series: thread of our lives - sylvix week 2020 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26578660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kornevable/pseuds/kornevable
Summary: Everything is in order and everyone is working. The castle still looks haunted.Felix returns to Fraldarius after the war; Sylvain goes with him. /Day 1 of Sylvix week: after the war
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: thread of our lives - sylvix week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933267
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	hardened heart

Fraldarius Keep looks haunted. Nothing has changed; the stones of the castle are as sturdy as ever, not a speck of dust is lingering on the carpets, and the gardens have never looked so immaculate. The stable hand smiles thinly when they give him their horses, and the maids are scurrying to make the last preparations in the guest rooms while the few soldiers left in the castle give a thorough report of what happened here in his absence. Felix dismisses them five minutes in and walks away.

Everything is in order and everyone is working. The castle still looks haunted.

“Well, I really thought your uncle would at least stay until you came back,” Sylvain says, voice light and casual. It's full of shit.

“He has business in Itha,” Felix replies. “He left a week ago. The people we employ in the castle are competent enough that we didn't need to worry too much.”

All hand-picked by his father or recommended by people who have worked here for as long as Felix can remember. They all know who the Fraldarius family is—was—, how tragedy struck them down one by one, until only the youngest remained—the only one who didn't make active decisions to get to know each one of them individually, as a person.

Felix stomps his way through the halls, snarling every time someone casts in his direction a compassionate look. He doesn't have time for that crap. It's stupid and serves no goal except feeling better about themselves.

“You should tell them what you're planning to do today,” Sylvain suggests.

“They know what they have to do.”

Sylvain's footsteps are loud and heavy behind him. He has always strolled through the castle like it was his second home, shoulders devoid of burdens and legs free to go wherever he likes.

“They probably do, but it seems they're waiting for _your_ orders. Like dinner? Tomorrow's training program? Giving them a day off?”

Felix stops in his tracks and whirls around. Sylvain's face is open, easy to read and unguarded, like he knows it's futile to keep up appearances when Felix will only call him out. There is no trace of regret or pity in these eyes that have always looked at him like he was both the most precious and fiercest being alive. It's unfair how vulnerable Felix feels, when he's tried all his life to control what can slip through the cracks of his barriers, and what should firmly be locked away. In the recent years, Sylvain has learned again how to push where it hurts him the most.

“They can't slack off yet,” Felix growls. “If you're going to keep saying nothing of relevance, you would be more useful helping in the stables. Horses won't complain about your constant stream of nonsense.”

“You know you like it when I talk your ear off.” Sylvain grins.

Felix sighs, and stays silent. The sun is still shining brightly in the sky, and they have much to do but tiredness is already crawling into his bones, like he's fought all day. If it was merely physical exhaustion, it'd be easy to deal with—eat, rest, sleep, and he'd be ready to tackle another day.

This isn't physical. The long journey from Fhirdiad to Fraldarius invited unnecessary thoughts in his mind, and Felix refuses to dwell on them any further.

They've stopped in front of his father's office. Felix knows Sylvain recognizes it too, after years of sneaking past it because they were told to be quiet. That heavy, wooden door, often closed and rarely inviting, looks even more intimidating now. Felix doesn't realize how tense he is until Sylvain takes his hand in his, and gently lifts his chin with his other. The smile stretching his lips is warm and is the color of summer.

“Hey, I'm here with you,” he says. “You're not doing that alone. I promised I won't let you alone with your fears.”

Felix stares. “Is that a line?”

“Is it working? If it's working then it's a line.”

Felix snorts, undignified and uncaring, which draws a chuckle out of Sylvain and another smile that feels even more genuine. Sylvain is rubbing circles on Felix's hand with his thumb, slow and tender, like a small spark of comfort seeping into his skin and giving him the necessary strength to push open that door. These words sound absolutely awful to his own ears, and he won't pretend that his heart isn't doing stupid somersaults in his ribcage, but perhaps this is what he needed. The simple truth that he isn't alone.

His hand stays in Sylvain's as he touches the door handle, and twists it. The door creaks, lifting small tornadoes of dust that shouldn't be here, revealing a clean, organized room. Felix spent time in this office, during those five years of uncertainty, debating with his father about the formation of their troops and the intelligence they should trust or not. It hasn't changed a bit since the last time he stepped inside: the desk is still littered with various piles of documents and reports, maps and wooden figures; the brown coffee stain on the burgundy carpet still hasn't washed away; the bookcases are filled to the brim with works on politics, strategy, battle tactics and geography.

Rodrigue Fraldarius loved books and working. He was exemplary in his attitude as a general and as a vassal of the crown—the Shield of Faerghus protecting the kingdom and its people. He was well-liked, despite the inevitable jealousy of some nobles in court. He was an outstanding soldier, a loyal man and a caring lord.

Felix flattens his palm on the side of a stack of battle reports (1181, loss of Fhirdiad-1183, murders of imperial soldiers-1184—), and sends it crashing onto the floor in one abrupt, sweeping motion. The other piles of papers rattle but they don't tip over; the inkwell on the corner of the desk, dried out a long time ago, topples and falls down, too. Felix watches the items drop like flies, his fists shaking and one second away from reiterating an act of destruction. But his eyes land on the documents, written and signed by his father, on the letters of uneven length and quality even though Rodrigue has been nothing but meticulous in his work. Felix was there, on those nights when they could only grasp at meager trails of hope and believe in wild fantasies, when they had to jot down notes and draw an itinerary to chase after a boar that was beyond saving.

He sinks on the floor among the scattered reports, and covers his face with his hands, breathing deeply, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to remember the scent of this room before it was abandoned—tries to remember the last time he stood close to his father for any given reasons on his own volition, and fails to come up with a pleasant memory.

Sylvain wraps his arms around him, silently, and starts stroking his hair, unhurried. The decision to come into this office shouldn't be affecting him so much, like it's ripping a chunk of his lung out of his body to leave him begging and gasping for air. Felix hasn’t let his carefully wrapped emotions spill out in such a raw manner in a long time. It's terrifying.

“You're not alone,” Sylvain repeats, like a mantra. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You just—don't want to go back to Gautier,” Felix mutters half-heartedly, voice strangled and muffled.

“That's just an added bonus. I'll stay in Fraldarius for as long as you want me to be.”

What if it's forever, Felix doesn't ask, as he removes his hands from his face to wrap his arms around Sylvain's back, and presses his forehead into his shoulder. The slight hitch in Sylvain's breath tells him he wasn't expecting the hug to be reciprocated, but that's fine. There is no point in hiding anymore. What if he regrets becoming the man he's been raised to grow into.

What if.

“Dimitri is going to be king,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“I'll be Duke Fraldarius, you'll eventually be Margrave and Ingrid will be a knight.”

“That's how we've established our future for the upcoming years, yeah.”

“You can't stay here to hold my hand because I want you to.”

There is a short moment of silence, and then Sylvain laughs.

“Hey, holding your hand is exactly what I plan on doing, in Fraldarius or in Fhirdiad or in fucking Gautier.”

Annoyance flares inside Felix, but the fondness laced into his words quickly squashes it down.

“Sylvain, I'm being serious!”

“And so I am! I told you, Felix, I'm not letting go.”

As if to make a point, Sylvain holds Felix tighter against him, letting out a chuckle when Felix produces a noise of protest.

“You're stuck with me.”

Everything that comes out of Sylvain's mouth sounds simple, when it's directed at others and not at himself, as if Felix should believe those words without question and be content to follow the rules of a game they've created only for themselves. There is a complete disregard of the obstacles blocking their path, because they’re supposed to take care of them at the right time. But Felix and Sylvain, they've always played the long game; dancing around their feelings and taking years to lay bare the truth and to renew a promise that's been dormant but alive all this time.

Felix untangles himself from Sylvain's arms, and looks directly at these too honest eyes. He ignores the blurry edges of his vision.

“The fact you're going to be considered a _guest_ doesn’t mean you'll have it easy here,” he warns, but there's a smile on his face.

Sylvain huffs. “Always working me to the bone, you're too cruel.”

“Being dramatic will increase your workload.”

Felix glances at the reports on the floor. There is a list of tasks and duties he has yet to review and to delegate, so many documents to sort and places to get familiarized with. This is like seeing his childhood home in a whole new light.

The castle looks haunted but Felix has lived with ghosts for over a decade. They will never disappear; he'll see them from the corner of the eye, remember what he's lost, and what he needs to uphold. Perhaps the burden will become lighter with the passing of years, perhaps it will remain the same—the emptiness in his heart, however, will slowly fade, as long as he stands by his loved ones' side.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, happy Sylvix week!!
> 
> This turned out less Sylvix focused than intended and more Felix-centric aha But it's still feelings and understanding between them! If you liked the fic a kudo or a comment would be much appreciated.
> 
> / come talk to me about fire emblem on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kornetable)!


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